


I will make it up to you

by rafaholic



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fedal - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-10 04:35:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20522027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rafaholic/pseuds/rafaholic
Summary: It all starts in 2009.Roger and Rafa are crazy in love. But something is going to change...





	1. The quiet before the storm

2009, January 10h

In the moment Rafa crossed the elevator’s doors, he knew something was not as it should be. The unexpected presence of Roger Federer, laying elegantly near the door of his hotel room was enough to confirm his feelings. He was seated on the red moquette, with his knees at his chest and his head slightly turned to the right, touching the wall. His gaze was sad and lost somewhere in front of him.  
Rafa stilled, with a feeling of unsureness and worry.  
He knew Roger, enough to tell that such an unexpected visit at such an unexpected hour could only be due to something really important.  
Thousands of thoughts came to him and while he walked towards his late visitor, who was still oblivious of Rafa’s presence, he tried to get rid of that irrational fear that hadn’t leave him since he had returned at the hotel from the dinner with his team.  
Maybe Roger was there just to say hello before the tournament would start and they would have no more time to spend together.  
During the last 3 years, their relationship had been always made of moments like that. Quick encounters in locker rooms or stolen moments in hotels’ rooms of always different cities, in the spasmodic need to share a feeling as strong as impossible to reveal to the world.  
Maybe there was nothing to worry about, then. Maybe it was just his mind to mess with him. Maybe it was all okay.  
His hopes fell in the second his eyes met Roger’s, red and tired.

“Rogi...”

“Rafa... sorry it’s late... I just...”

Rafa stopped him and quickly opened the door of his room allowing Roger to enter and to talk with a little bit more of intimacy.  
Before the Spaniard could say or do anything, Roger pushed him against the door, closing his lips in a hot and desperate kiss. The gesture only made Rafa’s worry growing.

“Roger...”

That was the only word he manages to pronounce, putting a hand on Roger’s chest, trying to understand what was that all about.  
The Swiss just buried his head in the crook of Rafa’s neck, like if his life depended on it. Like if even a couple of centimeters of distance from him could have killed him.  
He started to kiss his neck, then his jaw and then again his mouth, while his hands played with the sleeves of Rafa’s black t-shirt, that hardly contained his biceps.

“Roger, what happened?”

Roger shushed him immediately, putting a finger on Rafa’s lips and sliding his hand under his shirt.

“Shh, please Raf, not now. I need you. Now I just need you.”

Although the worry for Roger’s strange behavior kept growing in him, the hot breaths on his cheeks, the long trail of kisses between his shoulders and his neck and Roger’s hands unceasingly looking for some contact with his skin, convinced Rafa to postpone that conversation and to lose himself in the overwhelming sensation that Roger’s proximity provided to him.  
When Rafa started to reciprocate his kisses, Roger allowed some soft moans to leave his mouth. There was nothing else for him, nothing else than Rafa’s soft lips and his strong body, trapped between his and the door.  
His hips started to rubbing against the legs of Rafa, who parted them a little to give Roger a better access.  
The Swiss’ hands that until that moment had been busy tracking the perfect line of Rafa’s abs, went down at the elastic of the spaniard’s boxers, making him shiver. His breath became hard in Roger’s ears. When the older man wrapped his fingers around his cock, hard and hot yet, the Spaniard let his head slide backwards and made a moan that almost caused Roger to come in his pants. Immediately, Roger lowered the zip of Rafa’s jeans and made his boxers slip until they rested on the younger man’s knees. He started caressing sweetly his boner, first with his hands, then with his tongue, moving it so slow Rafa thought he would die.

“Rog... please...”

Before he could even finish his plea, Roger took Rafa’s cock in his mouth and the Spaniard was sure that the strong arms of Roger were the only things preventing him from falling down.  
The Swiss’ tongue licking every single vein, the fingers playing with his balls, the hot words whispered during the brief pauses Roger made to get some air, all of this caused uncontrollably moans out of Rafa which were nearly enough to bring Roger over the edge.  
So he suddenly stood up, causing Rafa to whimper in disappointment, shivering at the loss of contact.

“I need to be inside you”.

Rafa was far too gone to object.

“Bed.”

It was the only word he manages to say before finding himself once again under the weight of Roger’s body. The Swiss slowly started to undress him.  
The first thing to end on the floor was the black t-shirt. Jeans and boxers followed soon.  
Roger seemed to be drunk of that vision, and looked at that body as it was the first time.  
Or maybe the last one.  
Rafa felt a strange feeling of embarrassment being so completely exposed when his lover was still fully dressed.  
As if he could read his thoughts, Roger got rid of his shirt and jeans. Then Rafa made sure he’d lose his underwear too.  
The younger man quickly untapped the bottle of lube making Roger’s cock ache in desire.  
He teared the lube out of Rafa’s hands and squeezed it on his fingers.  
The Spaniard was now facing the sheets, moving his hips against them, desperate for friction.  
The sight was almost unbearable for Roger.  
Immediately he pushed a finger inside of Rafa’s hot hole causing him to stop his hips’ movement just to enjoy completely the sensation.

“Oh yes Rogi... more...”

Roger didn’t wait for Rafa to repeat himself. He pushed another finger in him. And another again.  
Just looking at his fingers disappearing into Rafa was almost too much.

“Roger, please. I’m ready. I want... I need... I want you in me.”

The Swiss was more than happy to please his lover’s request. He covered his cock with more lube and aligned himself with Rafa’s hole. Both of their bodies shivered in anticipation of the feeling that would follow.  
Roger stilled for a while, hugging Rafa from behind and kissing gently his shoulder, before finally starting to push and enter in Rafa.

“Jesus, Raf... you’re so tight. So perfect... ah...”

The feeling was something neither of them had never experienced before. Roger’s eyes were wet and if he wouldn’t have been so aroused he was sure he would have cried.  
The Swiss gave Rafa time to adjust to his length but the Spaniard seemed to have other ideas.

“Move Rogi. I need you to move.”

Roger started to thrust, at first slowly, then finding a good pace. Rafa was now nothing more than a panting mess and kept rubbing his cock against the sheets.  
Roger was now very close but he refused to be the first to come.  
His hands found Rafa’s cock, hot and hard against his belly.

“Come on, baby, let go. Come for me.”

Rafa’s member twitched and he moaned loudly. 

“Yes, Rogi, I have to... Come in me, please!”

At those words, Roger came screaming Rafa’s name and filling him up. Rafa followed him shortly after, coming in Roger’s fists.  
Still catching his breath, the Swiss pulled out and disentangled himself from the hot and welcoming muscles of Rafa’s ass. Then he let himself fall on the pillow near the Spaniard, staring at the ceiling of his lover’s hotel room.  
Rafa lay down and buried his face between Roger’s neck and shoulder.

“What was it Rog? What did just happened?”, he asked dreading the answer.  
He knew perfectly that what they had just shared wasn’t similar to anything they had experienced in the past. Too intense. Too strong.  
Rafa couldn’t wait anymore. He had to know.

Roger just sighed.

“I love you. You know that, right?”

Rafa frowned.  
For sure it wasn’t the first time he heard it from Roger but for some reason it seemed to him like it was.  
He claimed Roger’s mouth sweetly and tried a sincere smile, gesture that the Swiss did not mirror.  
So the smile of Rafa faded too.  
He sat up with a hint of realization clouding his beautiful eyes.

“Just say it, Roger.”

“Mirka is pregnant. She... We’re getting married.”

The silence which followed the revelation was almost unbearable.  
Rafa just nodded and after some minutes he started slowly to find his clothes.  
Roger was now laying on his elbow, following the Spaniard’s movements, still waiting for him to say something,

“Raf... Just talk to me, please.”

Rafa kept zipping his jeans in silence while his gaze was going to everything except for Roger.  
The Swiss sighed again.

“I know you might hate me now... I know...”

The younger man met Roger’s eyes for the first time from the revelation, frowning in disbelief. Roger closed his and tried to keep talking without crying.

“Please say something. Whatever. You’re killing me.”

Nothing.

“My love, please...”

“Don’t!”, Rafa finally yelled.  
“Don’t call me that way.”

It seemed like only the word “love” had managed to wake Rafa up from his status of trance.

“I ...”

“You? You what? What are you trying to tell me? Uh? You came here and fucked me to say goodbye? Is this, isn’t it? Are you trying to say this was our last time? That you’re going to disappear from my life?”

Rafa was now screaming without making any effort to contain his tears.  
Roger slowly came closer to him, caressing his forearm, sure that Rafa would have retreated.  
Instead, Rafa just gave up and crushed against Roger’s body, sobbing against his shoulders. The Swiss closed his eyes and held him as tight as he could, running his fingers through his hair and whispering words of comfort in his ears. 

“I’m sorry baby. I’m really sorry.”

After several minutes, Rafa began to find back his composure and, slowly drying his tears, he started to put distance between his body and Roger’s. 

“You should go now, Roger. Training is early tomorrow, so...”

Roger nodded sadly and started to dress up in silence.  
When ready, he came to the door but before opening it, he looked at Rafa once again.  
It seemed like he was going to say something before leaving that room and, with it, the man who he had learned to love unconditionally but that he had also hurt so badly that he had lost him. Probably forever.

“Okay, so... see you on court, I guess.”

“Roger...”, Rafa called him before he could leave the room and his life. Roger turned around and before he could even realize it, Rafa was kissing him. A desperate, beautiful, long, last kiss, full of thousand of different emotions.  
Love, sadness, fear, resignation.  
Roger pulled Rafa closer with all his strength, allowing a couple of tears to wet his cheeks.  
Then as it had begun, the kiss ended.

“Go now Rogi. Go and make her happy. You’ll be a great father.”, he whispered on Roger’s lips.

Just ten minutes after the Swiss found himself alone in his bedroom. Eyes open, tears still wet in the corner of them, heart pounding in his chest as fast as never.  
The taste of Rafa still on his lips.


	2. Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roland Garros 2011.  
Two years after they broke up due to Mirka’s pregnancy. How will Rafa and Roger react when they get to talk again properly after all this time?

2011, June 3rd

Spending his birthday in Paris had become a habit for Rafa. In fact, it was much more than that. It was a blessing. Celebrating in Paris meant that even that year Roland Garros was going as expected. Nothing was like Mallorca but birthday in Mallorca could only mean that he had been eliminated from the tournament that he loved the most. Or worse, that he was injured.  
None of this, fortunately.  
The giant birthday cake offered by the tournament organizers gave him a brief smile. The semifinal against Murray had gone well, very well. His tennis was almost perfect. Clay was his natural environment. Even the best players in the world, when they came to the clay season, they had to accept that Rafa was the only and unchallenged king. He blew out the candles, but expressed no desire. He had always been convinced that nobody hands you anything in life. Goals must be achieved with sweat, with hard work and willpower. No candle, no falling star, no lamp genius can give you something just because you asked.  
Fight and take it.  
This had always been the mantra of his life and to this he owed all his successes.  
He cut the cake and distributed it to everyone, but he didn't even taste it. He had a final to play in two days. The feeding had to be perfect.  
At that moment a small applause from the adjoining room caught his attention. The end of the second semifinal of the day had decreed his opponent.  
And who else but him? The rival of all time. His perfect nemesis. The other half of the player Rafa had always dreamed of becoming. The friend, or maybe not anymore.  
The love, still, despite everything.  
Roger Federer.  
Rafa knew after all that it would be him. On one hand, he even hoped for it. On the other hand, he was aware that from that evening in 2009, when their roads parted, every meeting with Roger, on or off the pitch, had become something to be feared.  
He didn't fear his tennis. Of course, he respected him deeply, as always, but Rafa was aware of himself enough to know that on clay, the one to be afraid must always be his opponent. Even Roger Federer.  
Rafa's fear was that he could have not controlled his feelings. That he would have wanted to hug him and forget everything, Mirka, the twins, the effort made so that all the love that he had been forced to keep hidden for more than two years didn't crush him.  
From the birth of the girls onwards their relationships had become almost unmanageable. Neither of them could stand next to each other without feeling an almost unbearable chest pain.  
For this reason the meetings off court had by now become zero, and their hugs at the net at the end of a game had become more and more rapid and cold.  
And that was another reason why finding Roger in the final could not be something Rafa could be happy for.  
But at this point, there was nothing left to think about, nothing to analyze, no pros and cons. Only a final to win.

And Rafa, as always, won it.

Once the interviews and photo sessions were over, Rafa returned to the locker room, still full of clay, his beloved clay. His home.  
He took off his shirt and placed it next to the trophy. He paused a moment to look at it.  
His sixth Roland Garros.  
Just when everyone was starting to wonder if he would ever win Slam titles again with all the injuries he had to face.  
A smile escaped from his lips at the thought. But the smile soon disappeared when Rafa felt the warmth of an hand on his forearm. An hand that he would have recognized among a thousand.  
He closed his eyes and held his breath for a second, trying to maintain an apparent calm.

"Rafa. Congrats for ... well, you know ... ", said Roger, almost regretting having started a conversation with him. Almost as if he knew it wasn't the right thing to do, but he couldn't help it.  
His red cheeks betrayed his embarrassment as he gestured toward the trophy.

"Congrats for this." He finally concluded.

"Thank you, Roger. Great match..."

The embarrassment was now obvious, neither of them knew how to continue a conversation that they should never have started. Two years trying to avoid moments like this and now there was no come back.

"I..."  
"So how..."

They started talking simultaneously, and then both stopped. A light laugh escaped from Roger's lips.

"We’ve lost the habit, didn’t we?" He asked again with a smile on his face.

Faced with that smile, Rafa loosened his defenses slightly.

"Well yes, I would say yes.", He replied, lowering his gaze but also smiling now.

"We look like two strangers."

Roger’s words instantly cooled the new and more relaxed mood and the Swiss immediately regretted having said them.  
Rafa's smile faded immediately.

"Roger, no ..."

"I know, sorry. Sorry, you are right. I don't ... forgive me, okay? "  
Roger said quickly, but Rafa was sure he wasn't just talking about the words he had just spoken.

"It's okay. It's okay. "

Roger sighed.

"No, it's not okay."

"Roger, do we really have to?"

"Yes. We have to Rafa. You're angry about everything, you're right, you hate me and you're right, you can't stand the idea of having me close and you're right because I ruined what we had and believe me if I tell you that I hate myself when I think about it. And I think about it often. Believe me, so often. Even Mirka noticed it, even my wife asks me why I am so sad, why I am not the same anymore and I would like Rafa, I swear I would, I would like to tell her that she is right, that I am not the same because without you, I don't even know who I am. "

Rafa's heart suddenly stopped in front of that river of words. In two years they had both been always careful not to have to exchange more than a few words and now all the weight of unspoken things had been released and they had to face the consequences.

"Don't do this to me, Roger, please ..." , the Spaniard pleaded with tears in his eyes.

Roger brought his fingers to Rafa's cheek and gently stroked it, joining their foreheads.  
  
"Rafa, I'm sorry. I hate to see you cry, the thought of you in tears that night two years ago never left me and I live with a sense of guilt that sometimes makes it impossible for me to breathe.”

"I learned to live without you, I learned ... you can't ..."

"I know..."

"Go away, Roger.", said Rafa, trying to use the coldest and most distant tone possible, but betraying a thousand emotions.  
The Swiss closed his eyes trying to hold back the tears but he didn't move an inch, perhaps hoping that Rafa could change his mind and allow him to stay close to him a little longer.

"Roger ..."

"Do you remember three years ago?", the Swiss continued undaunted.

"Please..."

"Do you remember? We were here, right here, in this locker room. It was your birthday. You had just won the quarter-finals and when you came back from the field you found my gift for you. The ball of our first game ever. I kept it as a souvenir but it seemed like a perfect gift at that time. It was really a small thing, very small compared to what I wanted to give you. You deserved more. I would have given you more. I would have given you everything. But you bursted into tears and threw your arms around my neck without worrying about who could see us. As if it were the most natural thing in the world, as if we could always do it. And then..."

"Roger, why? Why do you do this, why do you tell me this now? ", Rafa interrupted him with a voice now broken and the rush of someone who could no longer bear a single word.

Roger sighed.

"To remind you that I'm not just the asshole that broke your heart. But also the person who loved you more than anything else in the world.”

Rafa blushed violently and looked down, convinced that the only eye contact with Roger would be enough to make him burst into tears.  
For a moment the desire to kiss the man in front of him became almost unbearable, but somehow Rafa kept his composure.

‘For his family. For his little girls. If you love him, you can't give in, Rafa’, the Spaniard thought.  
Only this thought gave him the strength to resist.

"Sometimes people just can't be together. Accept it Roger. I did.”, he said in a whisper, speaking the words as if each very letter caused him physical pain. He didn't feel any of this. But he could not afford to live with the guilt of having put himself in the midst of the happiness of a family. Not when he knows very well himself how much this things can hurt. Not when himself suffered that much from the separation of his parents.

Tears wanted to come down but Rafa didn't allow them.

Roger felt like someone had punched him in the stomach. He released his grip on Rafa and simply, silently, left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry if I’m making you sad, my mood isn’t very good rn, and i think this is pretty clear by the heaviness of my writing. Hope to be better soon and give you some happier stuff. Love. <3


	3. Just a try

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wimbledon 2013 doesn’t go as expected for neither of them. And that’s not only about tennis.

2013, June 26th

Sergiy Stakhovsky.  
Sergiy fucking Stakhovsky.

Roger couldn't believe it. He continued to walk frantically through the corridors of the small villa that every year turned into his home during the two weeks he played his beloved Wimbledon tournament.  
Two weeks.  
He never thought that year they would have been reduced to just three days.  
Months of waiting to return to play on grass, his favorite surface. The surface on which no one could boast a better score than his. No one ever.  
Months of preparation and then he had to surrender in a random round to a random opponent. He had to surrender to his back injury.  
Roger dropped onto the bed, his hands in his hair and for a moment, only for a moment, he allowed himself to think about the past. He had never been the kind of person who looks at the past with melancholy. He had always believed that looking ahead was the only possible way to live happily and without regrets.  
Yet at that moment it didn't seem wrong to afford only a brief moment of weakness.  
He allowed himself to think about the previous year, the weight of the trophy in his hands and the insistent clicks of the photographers. He allowed himself to think of all the incredible victories on that central court, victories that media still hailed and described as heroic deeds. He allowed himself to think about his defeats as well. Well not all of them, one in particular. The most difficult defeat but at the same time the one for which he had no regrets. He had played to perfection, but his opponent had managed to be even better than him. The historic final of 2008.  
Yet as much as he tried, he could not think of that final as something negative happened during his career. Maybe it was because losing in the final leaves you with a better feeling, the feeling of having fought until the last day. Maybe because the opponent had not been a random player, one of those you meet, beat and forget.  
Maybe because the opponent had been Rafa. And maybe because Roger spent the night after that final right into the arms of the man who had snatched the trophy from his hands and had interrupted his dominance at Wimbledon.  
Roger shook his head and smiled bitterly at that memory.  
Thinking about it, their relationship had been the most unusual that could exist, but they didn't care. They were happy.  
They were.  
Roger took out his phone, unconsciously hoping to find a signal from his ex lover. A message, a call, whatever. Not that Rafa owes him anything.  
The Spaniard too had suffered one of the worst defeats of his career, only two days before, and Roger had not deigned to show up. So why would Rafa?  
From that meeting in the dressing rooms of Roland Garros, two years earlier, neither had dared to approach the other. They had both faked a complicity that had disappeared, every time they were in the presence of cameras. But far from the eyes of the world, Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal were no longer anything but two tennis players who fight at the top of world rankings. Just as it should have always been.  
Roger took a deep breath, trying to convince himself that the thought wasn't hurting him any more than he was willing to admit.  
After a few minutes, he decided to stand up and start packing. It was already almost 11.00 pm, Mirka had been sleeping for a while and Roger knew that the flight back home was waiting for him the next morning.  
He was about to close the last suitcase when the sound of the doorbell startled him. The noise seemed even louder than usual in the silence of the night.

"Who the hell ..." Roger began to say but stopped immediately when he realized who his night visitor was.

"Rafa ..."

"Roger, I know it's late but ..."

"Yes, it is.", the Swiss interrupted him, a bit shocked by the unexpected visit, trying to seem as indifferent as possible.  
After the Spaniard’s words after their final at Garros in 2011, after his "Accept it. I did.", Roger had put on a thick armor of pride. He had promised himself that he would never again show Rafa any weakness. The weight of those words was still heavy in his life. He felt their echo before falling asleep, or maybe in a dead moment between one training session and another, maybe when he happened to read the result of one of Rafa’s matches on his smartphone.  
He didn’t intend to forgive him.   
But now, with the Spaniard right in front of him all his vows began to falter.

"Did I wake you up?", asked Rafa, with a mortified look.

"No, but it's late. What are you doing here?"

"I ... wanted to know if you were okay, you know... your injury and the loss ... I know how difficult it can be and ..."

"Is that all? I am fine thanks. I had a bad day. That's it.", Roger interrupted him abruptly.  
He was making an inhuman effort to continue with the self-imposed script. Every cell in his body was screaming he was a fool.  
Rafa stared at him for a moment, wounded, but with the awareness of those who perhaps expected such a reaction.

"Yes, okay. I wanted to make sure you were okay and now I've seen that you're okay so I go. Goodnight Roger. "

The Spaniard immediately took two steps back and started walking towards the outer door, defeated. Roger knew it was not a game or a strategy to get the Swiss to stop him. When Rafa said "I'm going," then he really went away.  
This awareness took his breath away and without thinking, Roger stopped him.

"Wait, Raf ..."

Rafa stopped immediately and turned to him, frowning. From that reaction it was clear that he didn't expect that gesture from Roger at all.

"What?"

"I ... I know you lost too."

"I did.”

"I'm sorry."

Rafa nodded sadly, as if he didn't fully believe it. The Swiss immediately noticed it.

"I am. Really."

This time the younger man seemed to be convinced.

"Thank you ...?” he ventured with a tone that sounded more like a question.

"Do you ... want to come in? I can offer you a beer, if ... if you like. ", Roger asked before he could think of those words and stop them. The sound of his own voice echoed in his head immediately and his face contracted in a grimace of disbelief that mirrored the one Rafa had too, at that moment.  
The Spaniard seemed to think about it.

"No I... I don’t want to bother Mirka and the girls ..."

"They’re fine. Come in."

The sound of the door locked behind them made the moment real.

"So ... how is the back pain?", asked Rafa, trying to break the wall of embarrassment.

"Bearable. Your knee? "

"As always."

Then again, silence.  
After a few minutes Roger spoke.

"Did you come here just for this?"

Rafa frowned.

"For what else?"

Roger laughed ironically.

"Sure. For what else? ", he repeated bitterly.

"I shouldn't have come.”  
Rafa got up from the couch heading for the front door.

"No, you shouldn't have."

"Okay Roger, you can stop that, I'm leaving."

"No, you have to stop that. You shouldn't have come here after two years. You can't do that, you can't suddenly appear when you told me I have to accept your absence, that fate doesn't want us together, that you don't care at all about me. "

"I never said that.", Rafa interrupted him but his voice was not much more than a whisper. The unexpected vehemence of Roger's words caught him by surprise. This was not what he had expected when he decided to send pride to hell and reach the Swiss’ villa, to make sure he was okay. A crazy gesture after two years of silence, but the idea of Roger being destroyed by the weight of a loss in the tournament he loved the most had been enough to push him to act instinctively.  
Roger continued undaunted.

"Do you think it was easy for me? Uh? Do you think I didn't spent months in hell after you decided to stab me like that? With what courage do you come here to ask me about my injury after you forced me to learn to live away from you? ”, he said having lost control over his words and his emotions.

"You're married, Roger. You got married and now you're a father, what did you expect me to do? "

"I don't know, okay? I don't know, but I certainly didn't expect you to kick me out of your life like that, without thinking twice.”

The situation was now unmanageable and Rafa began to regret his choice seriously.  
But now the games were made and they might as well discover the cards in playing.

"Are you that stupid?"

"Excuse me?", asked the Swiss, putting on an indecipherable expression.

"I asked if you're really that stupid, Roger.", Rafa continued determined.  
"Do you have any idea how much it costed me? How much I cried when I realized I had lost you? When I realized that your family needed you and that it didn't matter how much I was suffering, because your family had priority and there was nothing I could do because that was the only solution? Do you think I was happy to cut you off? To lose to you on court and feeling like I was dying inside? And certainly not because of the loss, but because the time at our disposal was over and because I would have had to wait for another match to see you again, to be able to hug you at the net and not feel dead guilty about it, mierda! ", he concluded with eyes wet with tears.

Roger grimaced in pain as his heart shattered.

"I didn't mean to... I'm sorry ... it's just ..."

"No, it's okay. You have been pretty clear. Good return home”, said Rafa, trying again to leave that house but once again being stopped by Roger's strong grip on his arm.

"No, I have been mean. You didn't deserve these words, it had been hard for both of us. It IS hard for both of us. And today was such a terrible day, I didn't expect to lose, but the pain was atrocious and without realizing it I was out of Wimbledon and I started thinking about retirement and then you ... "

"Think of what??”, Rafa yelled, risking to wake up not only Roger's family but also the inhabitants of neighboring houses.  
Roger instinctively covered his mouth with his hand and in doing that, he inevitably brought himself very close to Spaniard. Much more than they had been in the last two years. The sudden closeness made both of them shiver and neither moved a muscle for some time, as if both had waited for a moment like this for too long and now they were not willing to let it go.  
Roger released his grip slowly and rested his hands on Rafa's hips, joining their foreheads. 

"What does it mean that you’re thinking about retiring, Roger?", Rafa asked lowering his voice, as soon as he could breathe again, never breaking the physic contact with the Swiss.

"I'm getting old Rafa. Sooner or later I'll have to ... "

"It's not time. It is early. It's too early”, replied the Spaniard, squeezing his eyes tight to stop the tears from falling.  
Roger tightened the grip on Rafa's hips and the Spaniard gave in, crushing against his body, burying his head in the crook of his neck.  
After a few minutes Roger broke the silence.

"Stay tonight."

Rafa raised his gaze to look the Swiss in the eyes and to understand if he was speaking serious.

"Roger, I can't. Mery ... Mery is waiting for me and ... "

"Don't," Roger interrupted him, putting a finger on his lips.  
"Don't say her name, not now."

"I can't Roger, please. Don't make things harder ... "

Roger was far too gone to really listen to him.

"I miss you. I miss you so much, Raf ... "

Rafa sighed.

"I miss you too," the Spaniard whispered and that was the biggest admission Rafa had given him until that moment.  
Roger didn't need anything else. He lifted his chin and kissed him gently but forcefully.  
Rafa immediately reciprocated, without even realizing it. Too much years without touching those lips. The sensation was overwhelming. It was like coming back home.  
Then comprehension hits him and he immediately retreated.

"Rogi, no. If we start, we won't be able to stop, you know that.”

"Why do we have to stop? Give me a reason why ... "

"I can give you three. One is named Mirka. Do I really have to name the other two?”, Rafa said sadly.  
At those words, Roger stopped too. His family was sleeping blissfully just a few steps away from him.   
He rested his forehead again on Rafa's and sighed.

"Why is this so hard, Raf?"

"Fate doesn't want us to-“

"Don't start with the fucking fate, Rafa, not again!", the Swiss interrupted him, perhaps with a little too much vehemence, and Rafa immediately took a step back, like he was scared of Roger.  
The Swiss raised up his hands to show Rafa he had nothing to fear, hating himself for having reacted that badly. 

“Sorry, don’t... sorry Rafa...”

"We keep hurting each other, Roger, don't you see it?"

“I don’t, no.”

“Having to apologize once every two spoken sentences is not normal, Roger.”

“We could be fine Rafa, if only ..."

"No. Don’t say it. We can not."

With these words, Rafa turned away and opened the door as quick as possible, knowing that he could not longer have opposed his feelings if Roger had once again stopped him.

The Swiss stared at the door for a few minutes, like in trance, before returning to his packing. He closed the last suitcase and went to lie down next to his wife, asleep and oblivious of what had just happened.

He didn't shut his eyes all night.


	4. Same wishes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They’re finally convinced of the same. Or maybe they aren’t?

2014

It’s never easy to fake a feeling. It’s even more difficult to pretend that a feeling does not exist.  
Rafa Nadal had learned that very well by now.  
After that evening in Wimbledon, in Roger's villa, things had taken on a completely different meaning.  
The certainty of having to stay away from the Swiss was more solid than ever, as well as the awareness that the closer to him he came, the more he ended up suffering.  
That's how it always happens, after all.  
When a feeling is that strong it must be lived but if you cannot live it then it is the one who lives you.  
It imprisons you in a constant thought, in a world of regrets and unspoken words. Or maybe of words said badly and at the wrong time.  
A feeling like that fills every minute of your every day.  
Looking back at everything, Rafa could not say that over the years the love for Roger had become less. But it had probably become something normal. A constant presence in his life, like a daily habit.  
There are those who always have breakfast in the morning at the same time, those who leave their house keys always in the same place or those who always cook the same type of pasta.  
Everyone has his own habit.  
Rafa had his own as well: to love Roger.  
From that night in London, the Swiss had tried in every way to convince Rafa to try again. To be closer. To be honest with each other first, and then with their partners and to send everything to the hell and try to be happy together.  
Rafa had always refused any attempt.  
As much as he wanted to, he couldn't stop thinking about the twins and how much they would suffer in such a scenario.  
Their relationship had been going like that for months.  
Roger kept asking, Rafa kept refusing.  
Until the birth of the second pair of twins had messed up things again and had completely absorbed the energies and the attentions of the Swiss.  
Rafa should have been relieved. He would no longer have to say no, he would no longer have to fight against himself and refuse what he wanted more than anything else in the world. Yet the relief was just the only feeling Rafa could not feel.  
Although he always had to wear the villain's clothes, even though he had decided not to give in, the mere fact of knowing Roger was trying so hard to get him back into his life was a sufficient thought to make his days livable. And now that those attempts had disappeared, Rafa didn't know what to do with all that freedom.

2015

The last year of Roger’s life had been a hurricane of emotions.  
The birth of the babies, Leo and Lennard, had made his life hectic and full of a thousand things to do and think about, it had throw all his plans and forced him to never rest, not even for a moment.  
Yet on the other hand it had given him a kind of emotional tranquility that he hadn't felt for a long time. It was as if the arrival of those little creatures had made him realize that the time for playing was over. That now there was no more room for impossible loves and romantic declarations from romance novels. That perhaps Rafa had always been right: fate had chosen for them.  
Certainly he could not lie to himself, he could not say that he had forgotten about Rafa and all the love he felt towards him. But perhaps he no longer even had time to stop and think about it and this was helping him to accept the idea that the Spanish was now only his biggest tennis rival.

The meetings between them were inevitable and very frequent. Two players at the top of the world rankings could not think of avoiding each other for long. The calendar was full of events, there were lots of games to play and every tournament was a good opportunity to meet again.  
Both had now learned to handle the situation.  
The rapid exchange of words on the training courts had gone from unbearable to almost pleasant. No one from outside would have said, looking at them, that something could have gone wrong between them.

But more than once Rafa found himself looking for Roger's gaze in a hundred different fields, a hundred dressing rooms for a hundred tournaments, hoping to catch a glimpse of their past history in his eyes. Some signs that could reassure him and calm the tornado of emotions Rafa felt whenever he was near him.  
The Spaniard realized that every day that passed was more difficult for him to remember the warmth of his lips, the sweetness of his caresses, and the thought was driving him crazy.  
The fear of being close to forget all those sensations suddenly invaded him with strength, making it sometimes impossible for him even to breathe.  
He realized that although his actions were really for the good and his intentions were the best possible, if Roger had ever asked him again to try to be together, this time he would not have rejected him.  
He wasn't proud of those thoughts at all.  
But if there was one thing that tennis had taught him was that fighting for what you really care about is never wrong.  
So, for once, he decided to take a step towards Roger. To open his heart and let all the love that he had hidden inside to come into the open.  
He decided to be selfish for once, only once in life, and to give himself a chance to be happy.  
He would have thought about the consequences later.

The players' party prepared by the ATP Finals organizers took place in a huge hall of a building with a view over the entire city of London.  
Rafa had never loved that kind of event. In fact, Rafa didn't love any event for which he was forced to get out of the comfort of his jeans and wear a tie. He had managed to resist almost an hour inside that hall, then he had decided to move to the large terrace next to the hall, to be able to breathe fresh air and to gather all the courage that he would have needed to make the move he feared so much.  
To confess Roger every sensation of his.  
While he was mentally organizing the ideas, the sound of the sliding door made him whirl around and the elegant figure of Roger decreed the end of every thought and time at his disposal.

"Now or never," thought Rafa, waiting for the Swiss to join him by the railing.

"Hola Rafa"

The Spaniard just smiled, not trusting his voice at all at that moment, sure that if he would have spoken he would have betrayed a thousand different emotions. Thinking about it, it was already a lot that Roger could not feel the mad speed at which his heart was beating.

"Breathtaking view, isn’t it?, the Swiss asked, without taking his eyes off the landscape.

“It is.”

Rafa's lack of words was what prompted Roger to look him in the eye for the first time.

"Oh, did you want to be alone? I can go away if-“

"No!", Rafa interrupted him before he could finish.

Roger simply smiled.  
After a few minutes of heavy silence, he finally spoke.

"Rafa, I have something to tell you."

The younger one smiled almost unconsciously, probably imagining that the revelation that would follow would be made by the same words he was dying to say too.

"Yes. Yes, me too. ”, he replied moving closer by only a few centimeters.

"Okay. You start."

"No, no, Roger. You said it first”, Rafa joked, feeling adrenaline throbbing all over his body. Just like before a match point.

The Swiss smiled and nodded.

"Okay, then. It's about the two of us ... "

He started fiddling nervously with the sleeves of his jacket but his eyes chained themselves to Rafa’s, as if that was the only way to find the strength necessary to continue.

"I ... Rafa, I want to apologize. I realized that I was wrong with you. That I’ve been too much. You have been clear, in these years I have forced you to say no to me many times. Too many. I put you in this situation, I got married, I had children. And despite everything, I wanted something from you. But I had no right. I had no right to ask you anything. I understood it late but I understood it. So I apologize. "

Rafa stilled, unable to understand where the Swiss wanted to arrive.

"You ask me ... sorry? Not ... what are you apologizing for? ”, he asked with a trembling voice, and with a feeling of anxiety that began to make its way inside him.

"I apologize for asking more from you than you was willing to give me. My God, Raf, I've been so selfish. I was so taken by my pain and guilt that I didn't see that the more I looked for you, the more I hurt you. I didn't see that your “no” were said to protect me and my family. You took care of me even from afar and I was the asshole that made things even more difficult for you. For this and much more, I apologize. "

Rafa stared at him with his mouth shut, as if he was seeing him for the first time.

"Rogi, I ... I don't know what to say ..."

Roger took his hand gently and began to stroke it with his thumb. The gesture was enough for Rafa's eyes to fill with tears.

"There is no need for you to say anything. I just wanted you to know I'm sorry. The way I behaved was not right. "

"You don't have to apologize ..."

"I know I don’t, but I want to make sure you know that from now on I will respect your wishes. I will not put you in unpleasant situations anymore. Even if there is nothing left between us, you remain one of the most important people in my life and I don't want to lose you. So I agree with you now. No embarrassment, I can't stand it with you. I want to be able to count on you, tell you about the children, talk about tennis. I want you back in my life and I realized that being your friend is the only possible way for this to happen without hurting you. So ... friends...?”, Roger concluded with a tentative smile.

Rafa stared at their hands still intertwined and unconsciously tightened his grip until his fingertips became white.  
Then he looked at Roger and stared at him for a few moments, without having the strength to say anything at all.

"Raf? You're okay?”, the Swiss asked, worried by the unexpected reaction of the younger man.  
He seemed to wake up from his trance and quickly, hiding a tear that escaped his control, nodded vigorously.

"Yes, I'm fine, sure ..."

"Are you sure? You are very pale ... ", murmured Roger, touching his cheek with the back of his hand.  
The contact caused uncontrollable shivers in Rafa who had to free himself from Roger's grip to make sure he didn't notice.

"Yes sure. Now I'd better go ... "

"Already?", he asked incredulously.

"Yes ... I am very tired and tomorrow I train very early so ..."

Roger stopped him by putting an hand on his forearm.

"No wait, what did you want to tell me?"

Rafa turned to look at him and again he remained still as if he were evaluating the right words, as if he were wondering if he should be honest or lying. Once again. Lying to Roger and to himself.  
The second option seemed to him the only possible choice.

"I wanted to tell you the same thing. There is nothing to add. "

He gently removed his arm from Roger's grip and, appealing to all his strength, smiled wearily.

"I have to go."

With these last words, the Spaniard disappeared inside the hall, leaving behind a confused and worried Roger.  
He knew he had done and said the right things but could not get out of his mind the image of Rafa's eyes after his speech. Rafa had always told him that there was no hope for them and yet that evening, just when Roger had finally decided to agree with him, the Spaniard seemed everything but happy.  
He remained on that terrace for several more minutes, thinking back to every word he had spoken and still feeling the grip of Rafa's hand on his.  
Nothing ever seemed to be the right thing with him. Roger never had any idea how to behave.  
He leaned his elbows on the railing, admiring sleeping London beneath him, giving voice to his thoughts.

"You'll be the death of me, Rafa ..."


	5. A winning game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of the journey.  
Will they manage to be happy or will their roads part forever?

2019, March 17th

If someone would have told him only a few months earlier, Rafa would not have believed it. It seemed something so distant and maybe even too big for him, that he had never really thought about it. Not all the way.  
Of course, after so many years of relationship, more than once he found himself having to answer questions from the curious press about it, but he had never given it so much importance.  
Until that day.

The day of his umpteenth withdrawal. His usual right knee had played him another bad joke and Rafa had been forced to withdraw from the Indian Wells tournament without even entering the field for the semi-final.  
Result: Roger Federer in the final without even having to play.  
The thought of having to give up for the umpteenth time had become a torment. Rafa spent the whole afternoon locked in his hotel room and crying. He wept over his body that kept betraying him. He was crying because another chance to win a trophy was blurred and only God knew how many more he would have had from now on. He was crying because once again he had made things easy for Roger.  
When the Swiss, on some evening of some November, had told him that he didn't want anything outside of a friendship, Rafa had had to upset all his plans again.  
At first it was almost impossible and the awareness that an encounter with Roger would at least be the cause of an emotional breakdown had led him to avoid it by all possible means.  
He had stopped attending media events, had not shown up for parties organized before the various tournaments, even in some cases had canceled some press conferences, inventing pains here and there or binding commitments, only for the remote possibility that Roger was nearby.  
But then his infinite sense of protection through the Swiss prevailed. Rafa would have done anything for him. So he armed himself with all the necessary strength and gave him what he wanted. Friendship, comfort, listening.  
Getting closer was not easy but the idea of being able to hurt Roger by denying him his presence in his life was enough for Rafa to leave aside any second thoughts.  
As time passed, things gradually became simpler. A smile was no longer a cause of embarrassment and a hug to the net was no longer something to fear for days before and to think about for days later.  
The Spaniard found himself even thinking that he was lucky. After all, he had managed not to lose Roger, to be part of his life and not to feel dead guilty in the meantime.  
It was not like being able to hug him or kiss him, but if it was all he would ever have been, it had to count for something.  
Until that March day in Indian Wells, Rafa had managed everything perfectly.  
But that day something had changed. He hated himself, he hated his body, he hated Roger for having had a career almost free of injuries.  
He hated his team for leaving him alone crying at an anonymous hotel room.  
After all the afternoon, the doorbell rang and he found himself in front of Mery holding two huge boxes from some fast food.

"If you don't have to play anymore, at least you can eat whatever you want," she had said, trying a smile that went straight to Rafa's heart.

The Spaniard squeezed her gently in his arms and in that moment, only in that moment, he made his decision.  
Mery was there and would always be there. Mery took care of him. Mery didn't have to run away after a night together. Mery didn't have four children to think about. Mery didn't ask him anything, she took the worst part of him, she took his outbursts of defeat, his bad moods, his silences. Mery loved him.  
And he loved her. Maybe not like every man loves his woman but he loved her. And the idea of a life with her was really, at that moment, the only thing that kept him standing through every difficulty.  
Rafa slowly released the grip on her, took the two large bags from her hands and knelt in front of her.

"Do you want to marry me, Mery?"

2019, August 3rd

The press wasn’t talking about anything else. Rafa Nadal's marriage filled hundreds of pages of newspapers around the world.  
As much as he tried, Roger couldn't spend a single day without someone talking about it, without any internet site to remind him of it or worse, without some journalist asking for his opinion at press conferences.  
What did they expect him to say?  
"Yes, Rafa is my friend but I can't be happy for him because until recently I used to go around kissing him in locker rooms all over the world."?  
Roger smiled and stammered good wishes every time.  
He was aware of not being in the position to complain about anything. He had been married for ten years, he had four children, he had asked for friendship and Rafa had always, always, respected this request.  
It was time for him to be happy and Roger could not afford even the smallest of complaints.

The small blue envelope containing the invitation had remained on Roger's desk for three weeks now, without the Swiss having the courage to open it. His name was written by hand, the handwriting was Rafa’s. Roger could not help thinking of the moment when the Spaniard had printed the letters of his name on that card, what he was thinking at that moment, if his hand had trembled even for a moment.  
For the first time, that day, Roger took the invitation in his hands, turning it around like an unidentified alien object. He paused again on his name, touching it with his fingertips. Then he finally opened it.  
19 October. A little over two months and his Rafa would officially become someone else's Rafa.  
The thought struck him violently in the chest but he tried to maintain composure.

"We are friends.", He repeated to himself.  
"Just friends."

2019, October 19th

Rafa had everything under control. Almost.  
His mirror image looked like that of another person. He could hardly even recognize himself in such an elegant dress. In a few minutes he would have to walk through the nave of the church, reach the altar and wait for his woman.  
He closed his eyes and sighed.  
Next to him, Feliciano Lopez looked at him with scrutinizing eyes.

"I still don't believe you get married. I was starting to believe you would never ask her. She would get tired and you would end up alone, bald and fat, eating chips watching the first season of Breaking Bed. "

Rafa looked at him for a moment. Then he burst out laughing.

"Remind me why I chose you as my best man."

"Because I'm your friend, and you adore me. And because I’m the most beautiful of all them and you want to make a good impression.”, Feli joked as he ran his hand through his hair like the models in the shampoo ads.

"Thanks for being here, Feli. Really."

Feliciano sighed and patted him on the shoulder.

"Duty, friend. You know I will always support you whatever your choice is. Even if it's one of the stupidest things you've ever done. "

Rafa immediately frowned.  
Feli smiled, shaking his head.

"Don't look at me like that, Rafael. You know I just want you to be happy. I'm just afraid this isn't the right way. "

"What do you mean, what ...?"

"You're not stupid, Rafael. You can get there by yourself. "

"Mr. Nadal, it's time. Please follow me. ".  
One of the wedding planners in charge of making every detail of his marriage perfect, interrupted him before he could answer anything, and invited him to follow him to start the ceremony.  
Feliciano had already disappeared and Rafa tried not to think too much about his words as he walked, head down, to the steps of the little church.

The minutes spent waiting for the bride's arrival seemed endless. The sound of the wedding march that served as the background to Mery's entrance was a release for Rafa, who almost began to fear that she would have never arrived.  
As she advanced slowly toward the altar, for a moment and only for a moment, Rafa allowed himself to turn his gaze slightly to his left, meeting Roger Federer's eyes.  
It lasted a second, maybe less.  
Then his attention returned to concentrating completely on his beautiful future bride.  
The ceremony began and continued among the smiles and shining eyes of all the guests.  
At the time of the vows, Rafa turned gently to Mery and in doing so he looked once more between the benches to his left.  
Roger was no longer there.  
Rafa's breath broke and his expression changed completely.  
Mery noticed it immediately and followed the direction of his man's gaze. After the first moments of loss, a hint of realization clouded her eyes and she slowed her grip on Rafa's hands.  
He looked at her with mortified eyes, sure that his next actions would hurt her more than he could ever think.  
Yet the thought was not enough for him to hold back.

"Mery, I have ... I need a moment."

"Rafa ..."

"Mery, please. I only ask you... two minutes. "  
  
"But I..."

"I can't do that if he isn't there," the Spaniard interrupted, before she could add anything.

Mery left his hands and quickly wiped a tear. Then she simply nodded.  
Rafa unbuttoned his jacket and reached the outside of the church at a brisk pace. It only took a few minutes to find what he was looking for.  
Roger was leaning against one of the side walls of the church, looking down. The tie was loose, the shirt half unbuttoned.  
The jacket abandoned on the bench next to him.  
Rafa's agitated footsteps made him look up and his jaw dropped in disbelief.

"Rafa what ... what the hell are you doing-"

"No, YOU. What the hell are YOU doing here”, the Spaniard attacked him, unable to contain his anger.

"Rafa, I ..."

"Where is Mirka? Why didn't she come? Why did you went out from there, why did you took off your jacket, why ... "

"Rafa!" Cried Roger, interrupting that endless stream of questions.  
When Rafa seemed calmer, the Swiss spoke again.

"Mirka is not here ... we ... things are no longer the same as before. But that doesn't count now, you should be in there, oh my God Rafa, you should be married by now. ", he continued, looking at his Rolex repeatedly.

Rafa sighed.

"No, not without you."

"Rafa ..."

"No! I don't do it without you! You're my friend, aren't you? You've been telling me for four years that you're my friend and now I need my friend. I need you to be there to applaud, to throw rice at me and my wife, I need you to be happy for me, for God's sake, is it so hard for you? "  
Rafa's eyes were now wet with tears.

"Don't ... Don't cry, please."

"Why did you come here? Why did you went out into the middle of the marriage, tell me why ... "

"Because I love you, okay? I love you. Yet. Always. Despite everything. Like the first day. Maybe more."

Rafa froze but Roger didn't stop talking.

"I know I'm an horrible person. I know, because you've endured everything for years and I'm not able to endure this single day. I am an horrible person because I asked you for friendship and now I am not able to be your friend. I don't deserve to be here, I don't deserve you. Excuse me, Rafa. "

With these words Roger tried to move away but the Spaniard’s strong grip on his arm prevented him.

"Roger. In all these years I have always done everything you asked me, always. This time I'm asking you something. Get back in with me. I can’t say yes, knowing you’re not there. Please, Rogi. ”, pleaded Rafa, now crying.

Roger reached out a hand to him and wiped away his tears. Rafa trapped his hand between his cheek and his shoulder, breathing deeply.

"Okay. Okay Raf. Let’s go."

Roger was not at all sure he could hold on between those four walls but Rafa's smile gave him all the strength he needed to try, at least.  
They both returned to the church, under the eyes of the guests who exchanged curious comments. Roger sat a few benches farther away from the place he occupied earlier, but Rafa didn’t dare asking for more. The Spaniard approached Mery and gently took her hands, whispering a shy "thank you".  
She smiled sadly, never looking up at him.  
The priest resumed the ceremony, inviting Rafa to formulate his marriage vows first.

"I, Rafael Nadal Parera, take thee Maria Francisca Perrelló as my legitimate wife. And I promise to take care of you always, every day of my life, to honor you and always respect you, and to make you happy in every way I can. "

A shy applause from the guests concluded his short speech. Rafa met Feliciano's gaze, who merely nodded, a slight smile on his lips.

"Miss Perrelló, it's your turn."

Mery took a deep breath and started.

"I, Maria Francisca Perrelló ... although I would like it with my whole being, no. I can't take thee Rafael Nadal Parera as my husband. And I can't take care of you every day of my life, but above all I can't and I'll never can make you happy. No way I could try. "

The crowd began to rumble, each guest looking upset at his own neighbor.  
Feliciano looked at Rafa with a confused look. Rafa frowned in disbelief.

"What does that mean ... not...what are you saying?"

"Please, Rafa, don't pretend to be surprised. I have turned a blind eye many times, too many times. They had been fifteen wonderful years with you but do not believe that they were not even full of suffering. I'm not stupid, Rafa. I saw. I understood. I pretended it wasn't important and I hoped that one day everything would change and that I would be your first and only choice again. But it never happened, Rafa. Not even today. "

"Mery, I chose you. I'm marrying you today. I'm choosing to spend my life with you. "

"Yeah?", She smiled bitterly.  
"Really Rafa? Are you choosing me? Today, on our wedding day, with thousands of guests, in front of a priest and in front of God, it was enough for you not to see him for a moment in the crowd to leave me here alone and run to him. You chose him from day one, you chose him when you came home late at night with red and puffy eyes. You chose him when after a match, at the net, your hands stayed on him longer than necessary, just because you knew that they were the only moments when you could touch him and have him close without anyone becoming suspicious. You chose him when you cried for a week after the birth of his children, you chose him when you accepted a friendship that nearly killed you and you chose him even today when you almost fainted because he wasn't here. I tried, Rafa. But I can't marry a man who chooses me just because he can't choose the person he really loves. "

Rafa stood looking at her for an interminable time, without saying a word to her. Tears blurred his vision but he didn't even have the strength to dry them. The weight of all of Mery's words was unquantifiable but it was the knowledge that it was all true to take his breath away.  
Some guests began to leave the room shaking their heads.  
The excitement brought Rafa back to earth.

"Mery, don't do it, don't ..."

"Rafa, I'm doing it for you. But actually I'm doing it for me too. I deserve a man who loves me completely and without doubts. You can't be that man. This kind of love you can meet once in a lifetime and you've already done it. Go to him now, go away and stay away from me. I don't want you to see me cry. ”, she concluded with the last energies that remained after her speech.  
Rafa came over to stroke her cheek.

"Mery ..."

"GO AWAY, I SAID!", she yelled, finally losing control of her emotions and letting her tears run down her face. Rafa immediately withdrew his hand and, still shocked by what had happened, ran to the exit of the church, disappearing from the sight of the few remaining guests.

Minutes passed, maybe hours, Rafa could not tell.  
He had sat on a bench in the small garden next to the church for a long, long time. With his head in his hands and his heart in turmoil, trying to analyze every word of Mery and every moment lived of that surreal situation.  
The thought that she had been unhappy over the 15 years she had spent with him tormented him. She was certainly right. She deserved better. She deserved a man.  
He wanted to slap himself, he wanted to change the course of events and be a better person. For himself, for Mery and also for Roger.  
It was at that very moment, just when he was allowing himself to think of him, that he heard the unmistakable sound of his voice reaching him from behind.

"Rafa ... oh my God, I was so worried, I had no idea where you were ..."

Rafa looked up at him, showing two red eyes, as red as Roger had never seen them before. Immediately the Swiss crouched in front of him, taking Rafa’s face in his hands.

"I'm sorry, love, I'm so sorry. I ruined your marriage, I ruined your life, I made you live in hell for the last 15 years. I know you will never forgive me, I know, and I can't ask you to do it. I can talk to her you if you want. I can tell her that she’s wrong, that you love her, that she must come back to you. I can do it, no, I will do it, now I go, I go and I tell her that- “

"Do you mind to shut up?", Rafa interrupted, appealing to all his strength to find his voice.

"I..."

"You can not do anything. You can't change things. You can't bring her back. "

"I know. I don't know how to apologize to you, if only I had been stronger and I hadn't left that church, now ... "

"I have always believed it would pass.", interrupted Rafa following the thread of his thoughts and without really listening to Roger.  
"I have always believed that with time ... it would become easier. That I would stop feeling all that ... ", he stopped, putting a hand over his eyes.

Roger continued to stare at him.

"What did you think it would pass... what did you?", he asked fearfully and hopefully at the same time.

"But how can’t you understand?", Rafa interrupted him, in a tone that betrayed all his frustration.

"Understand what ... ? Rafa, tell me...”

"That I could even have married her, I could have made her Mrs. Nadal, maybe give her a child. I could have taken her home with me and give her everything. I could have done all this but I could never, never, have loved her as I love you, stupid jerk. "

This time there were no tears. Only words spoken with the desperation and anger of those who for too long had to fake feelings far removed from reality.

"But, I believed ... you always said that there could be nothing between us, I always thought that ..."

"That night in London," he interrupted.

Roger looked at him confused.

"That night when you came to tell me that there was nothing left between us and that you just wanted to be my friend. That evening I was ready to tell you that I had changed my mind. That our love was too strong and too important to be simply forgotten. That I wanted to try, in any way, that we would find a way to make things work for everyone. "

"No. That’s... that’s not true... it can be...”

"No? So why would I react that way? Why would I run away if you were finally telling me what I had been saying for years? Why would I not have hugged you, glad that you finally agreed with me? Have you ever thought about it?  
The truth is, that night I felt dying because once again your timing was so bad, like today, like every time. You are a disaster, you made me suffer more than any other person in the world and still I will send everything and everyone to hell just to have you close again”

Roger could no longer restrain himself and captured Rafa's lips in the sweetest kiss he had ever given anyone.

"Forgive me Rafa. Forgive me if you can. God, I love you so much. "

Rafa was now crying but his tears were a mixture of emotion and passion. There was no sadness, only love. Infinite love.

"Let's go home," he whispered.

When they set foot in Rafa's large house by the sea, they both seemed for a moment to be back 10 years earlier. Without children, without marriage, without ...  
The thought of the children suddenly caught Rafa.

"Roger, Mirka ... the twins, the girls, Roger ..." he began, worried.  
The Swiss gently took his wrists and silenced him with a kiss.

"It's okay, Rafa. Mirka and I talked. I wasn't happy and I couldn't make her happy until I was like that. She is an extraordinary woman. She understood and our children will always grow up having both me and her close. It's all right, Raf. It's all right, my love”, he explained gently.  
Rafa seemed to calm down and let himself be surrounded by Roger's strong arms.  
They spent many, too many minutes in that position, just because they could do it. Roger gently stroked Rafa's hair and Rafa kept his head hidden in his the Swiss’ neck.

After an interminable time, Rafa gently began to kiss Roger's neck, then moved to his jaw and back to his mouth. Roger held him even more tightly, desperately searching for contact with Rafa's perfect skin. The white shirt tucked into his elegant trousers didn't make his job easy.  
The breathing of both immediately became heavier, until Roger released a frustration groan.

"Rafa. Shirt. Off. "

Against his will, the Spaniard moved away a few inches to get his shirt off. Not even a second later, Roger's hands were already everywhere, followed by his lips that left trails of burning kisses along every inch of uncovered skin.

"Oh Raf, I missed you so much ..."

"Shh", Rafa silenced him with a kiss, starting to fiddle with Roger's trouser belt, which soon ended up on the floor, along with both pants.  
Getting to the bedroom seemed an impossible task for both but the need to get lost in each other as completely as possible was a sufficient motivation.  
When Rafa's bare back touched the cold sheets, the Spaniard shivered and let out a slight moan.  
Roger's cock twitched in interest.  
The Swiss immediately returned to his occupation, starting to kiss Rafa everywhere again.  
He drew his neck with his mouth, then his pecs and then his abdominals, until he was a few inches from the cotton of Rafa's boxer, darker at the tip of his cock, full of precum.  
Roger teased a little, causing shivers in Rafa who subconsciously brought his right hand on his cock.  
Roger pushed it away immediately.

"Calm, baby. We have time."

"Roger, please ..."

The Swiss lowered Rafa's boxers and released his erection, which immediately went to lean against the Spaniard’s belly. Roger didn't hesitate a second and started licking Rafa's cock from tip to base, following every single vein and literally driving his lover crazy.

"Oh my God Roger, yes ... like that..."

Roger could have come just by listening to Rafa's prayers and groans but by the time he had pitted his lips back on that perfect body, he had decided that that moment would end only and only with his cock inside Rafa.

"You're so hot, baby, oh my God, look at you ..."

Roger stopped tormenting Rafa's cock with his tongue and stood up to reach the bottle of lube on the bedside table.  
He spread a generous amount on his fingers and without warning he began to push his fingers inside Rafa, scissoring them, and trying to prepare the Spaniard for him.  
Rafa made some moans that Roger had never heard him do before and the need to hear them again led him to push his fingers with more force inside him.

"Please, love, I'm ready."

The word "love" pronounced by Rafa's lips seemed even sweeter at the time and the Swiss convinced himself he could no longer wait.

He reached out to grab a condom but Rafa stopped him.

"No, no condom. Only you. I want to feel you."

"Fuck", Roger cursed, too aroused to object.

At the exact moment he lined up with Rafa's hole, they both shivered and perhaps for the first time they realized how real everything was.  
Roger smiled. But the smile lasted only a few moments because it was replaced by an expression of pure pleasure when he started pushing inside Rafa.  
Both moaned loudly.  
For a few moments neither of them moved, savoring the new sensation, so different yet so incredibly similar to 10 years before.

"Oh my god, Rafa ..."

"Yes, Rogi, please ..."

Roger backed away a few inches and then pushed his cock deeper inside, saying Rafa's name like a prayer.

"I had forgotten how ... oh God, you feel so good ..."

Roger took a very slow pace, almost as if he didn't want to miss a single moment of that pleasure, whispering between one thrust and the other in Rafa's ear.

"Every day I thought about this ..."

Rafa was a panting mess.

"Roger. Faster."

The Swiss increased speed and in a few moments Rafa came, dirtying Roger's abdomen.  
The vision was enough to bring himself over the edge and he only needed two more pushes to come inside Rafa.

A few moments later Roger lay down beside him, looking at him as if for the first time.  
They were both sweaty but neither of them cared. Rafa leaned in and kissed Roger gently, sinking his hands into his hair.

"I still can't believe it's true," he whispered right on Roger's lips.

"Me neither. But it is. "

"I love you, Rogi."

"I love you too, liebchen."

Rafa pressed himself closer to him.

That evening they fell asleep, squeezed together and both with a smile on their lips, aware that this was just the beginning.

**Author's Note:**

> It may be a little sad in its development but i’ll make sure it’ll be worth it.  
I’m sorry if there are some grammar mistakes, English is not my mother tongue so please, if something is wrong let me know! I crave to learn. Love. <3


End file.
